Damaged Read Free

rescue swimmers. Liz didn’t mind. It was a small thing, done out of respect more than anything else.
    She released the gunner’s belt, gave Kesnick a thumbs-up to tell him she was ready. She maintained control over the quick strop as he hoisted her clear of the deck. Then he stopped. Liz readjusted herself as the cable pulled tight. She turned and gave Kesnick another thumbs-up and descended into the rolling waters.
    Without a survivor in the water Liz quickly assessed the situation. The container was huge. By Liz’s estimates, at least forty inches long and twenty inches wide and deep. She recognized the battered white stainless steel as a commercial-grade marine cooler. A frayed tie-down floated from its handle bracket. Frayed, not cut. So maybe its owner hadn’t intended to ditch it, after all. She grabbed the tie-down, which was made of bright yellow-and-blue strands twisted into a half-inch-thick rope, and looped it through her harness to keep the cooler from bobbing away in the rotor wash of the helicopter.
    She signaled Kesnick: her left arm raised, her right arm crossing over her head and touching her left elbow. She was ready for them to deploy the medevac board.
    The bobbing container fought against her, pushing and pulling with each wave, not able to go any farther than the rope attached to her belt allowed. It took two attempts but within fifteen minutes Liz had the fishing cooler attached to the medevac board. She cinched the restraints tight, hooked it to the cable, and raised her arm again, giving a thumbs-up.
    No records broken, but by the time Kesnick hoisted her back into the helicopter, she could tell her crew was pleased. Not impressed, but pleased. It was a small step.
    Lieutenant Commander Wilson still looked impatient. Liz barely caught her breath, but yanked off her Seda helmet, exchanging it for her flight helmet with the communications gear inside. Shecaught Wilson in the middle of instructing Kesnick to open the latch.
    “Shouldn’t we wait?” Kesnick tried being the diplomat.
    “It’s not locked. Just take a peek.”
    Liz slid out of the way and to the side of the cabin, unbuckling the rest of her gear. She didn’t want any part of this. As far as she was concerned, her job was finished.
    Kesnick paused and at first she thought he would refuse. He moved to her side and pushed back his visor, avoiding her eyes. The child-safety latch slid back without effort but he had to use the palm of his hand to shove the snap lock free. Liz saw him draw in a deep breath before he flung open the lid.
    The first thing Liz noticed was the fish-measuring ruler molded into the lid. It seemed an odd thing to notice but later it would stick in her mind. A fetid smell escaped but it wasn’t rotten fish. More like opening a Dumpster.
    Inside she could see what looked like thick plastic wrap encasing several oblong objects, one large and four smaller. Not the square bundles that might be cocaine.
    “Well?” Wilson asked, trying to glance over his shoulder.
    Kesnick poked at one of the smaller bundles with a gloved finger. It flipped over. The plastic was more transparent on this side and suddenly the content was unmistakable.
    His eyes met Liz’s and now the ever calm, poker-faced Kesnick looked panicked.
    “I think it’s a foot,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I think it’s a goddamn human foot.”

CHAPTER 2

    NEWBURGH HEIGHTS, VIRGINIA
    Maggie O’Dell peeled off her blouse without undoing the buttons, popping one before it came off. Didn’t matter. The blouse was a goner. Even the best cleaners couldn’t take out this much blood.
    She folded the shirt into a wad and dropped it into her bathroom sink. Something wet was stuck to her neck. She grabbed at it, threw it in the sink.
    Pink. Like clotted cheese .
    She’d been so close. Too close when the fatal shot came. Impossible to get out of the way.
    She swatted at her neck and yanked at her hair, expecting more pieces. Her fingers got stuck in sweaty